My dear Harry,—I do miss the New York man. He was a quiet, sensible gentleman, and if you happened to utter an idea above the average he was always able to respond and keep the ball of conversation passing agreeably around the table and fireside. There are so many men who will not take the trouble to answer a lady’s question with any serious thoughtfulness. This boy Howard is not a goose by any means, but he is full of animal spirits and all sorts of pranks. He has kept Lucy racing about over the country so that she has no time for anything else. Two weeks ago I ripped up my old black satin dress which did not set right in the back, and there it lies waiting for Lucy to put it together—for I do hate dressmakers’ bills, and your sister learned the whole science of remodeling old clothes during the war, when she could not buy any cloth to save her life.
Lucy can embroider and do all kinds of needlework, but she is letting the needle lie idle and putting out all her own sewing, which I cannot allow her to do with a good conscience.
I noticed the other day that Howard had Lucy’s diamond ring on his little finger, and now she tells me he lost one of the stones out of it when he went after pond lilies yesterday. The boy was plagued and worried over it and said he would replace it; but that is nonsense, for the Hightowers would never have sent Howard here on my invitation if they had money to buy diamonds. I made Lucy put away the ring in her trunk, and told her jewels were unbecoming to a Christian girl and her father ought never have given her any diamonds.
We are going to visit a mountain to-morrow. Lucy is wild after such things, and no wonder, living so long in a flat country which can boast of nothing which constitutes scenery, not even a pebble or a brook of clear water. These hills are perfectly heavenly with their grassy slopes ornamented by noble trees, and then the meadows so fragrant with new-mown hay; I am lost in admiration myself, so I cannot blame the raptures of this unsophisticated child of nature, who sees it all for the first time.
My sister’s horses are high-spirited creatures, and Howard, who has had no experience in driving, insisted upon taking the reins, when they ran away and Lucy was thrown out; and the funniest thing happened to her in a wonderful and providential manner; she was landed upon a bed a farmer’s wife had put out to sun before her door. She fell right in on the feathers and not a bone was broken. But my heart failed me when Howard came home at a late hour, with the side of his face scratched and bruised, and helped Lucy out of the battered carriage, which had to be repaired before it could be driven home.
I shall greatly rejoice when that boy takes his leave, for I am in hourly dread of his impetuosity in getting us into trouble.
Still, he is a bright, noble spirit, and is so penitent when he does anything wrong that I must needs forgive him. I really fear my sister is beginning to weary of my young friend. I think the broken phaeton has some influence on her feelings.
I have no time to write a long letter, so I enclose one which I have just read from your cousin Maria which contains a great lesson for a young man setting out in life—one which I hope you will lay to heart.
Dear Auntie,—Tell Lucy to have the lilac silk dress made up, which she is commissioned to buy for me. We are the same size almost, so it can be fitted to her shape, and I want it trimmed with real lace. I never saw any lace while the war went on and I long to feel once more like a lady. I think a liberal quantity of fine applique or real Brussels lace would help me to realize the Union is truly restored. So Lucy must reserve one-half the money I send for the dress to be invested in this trimming.